


Watch the Sunset With Me

by katyb64



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, He cries it's gr8, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Reichenbach, Pre-Season/Series 03, Sherlock is very smol, he has emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyb64/pseuds/katyb64
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's life is miserable, it has been since he was shot five years ago. Every day is the same mind-numbing routine, until he meets a strange man at the park who plops his head right in his lap and leaves without much of an explanation. The man, who he comes to know as Sherlock, is very odd, but he's compelling and John is soon head-over-heels. Things would be perfect, except John's life has never made too much sense, and it only gets more confusing when Sherlock tells him that they've met before. John is certain that he never would have forgotten Sherlock, and that he is definitely certain that Sherlock wasn't dead for two years. That's impossible, isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge, huge, HUGE thank-you to my beta, Danielle. You were so incredibly helpful through this and this story wouldn't be complete if it wasn't for you! I hope you all enjoy!

John was sitting on a park bench, holding a sandwich, and feeling sorry for himself. His Wednesday routine was nearly complete. It began with him sleeping until noon, waking up, feeling sorry for himself, getting breakfast, not eating it, and feeling sorry for himself. He would then lounge around his flat until about five, still feeling sorry for himself, and would then force himself to go to the park and watch the sunset. On a good day he would take one or two bites of some sort of food as he tried to let the beauty of nature lift his spirits, make him into a new man.

It almost worked once.        

_'C'mon, Watson,'_ he thought to himself. _'Look at that sun, look at it setting over the pond. It's beautiful. Stop being such a whiny little shit.'_

His melancholy was thankfully interrupted, though not by anything he'd really like to be interrupted by. Specifically, he was interrupted by a head on his lap, attached to a body that seemed not only to be painfully unaware of social norms but also of how to wear properly fitted clothes, seeing as his were so tight that John could...

He promptly stopped checking out the arse of the random man who decided to lay down in his lap and decided to try and figure out what the hell was going on. "Ah... excuse me?" He tapped the man's shoulder.

"Shh!"

John blinked. "Did you just shush me?"

"Yes!" Snapped the man in a surprisingly deep voice. "However it clearly didn't have the intended effect."

"Ah..." John was lost for a moment. The man acted as though _John_ had disturbed _him_. "Well. Could you... you know. Not lay on me? I was kind of... I don't know. Relaxing. I guess."

"So am I."

John huffed. "Right. Well, I was here first, so it's only fair-"

"Shh!" The man shushed him again, icy blue eyes glaring up at him. "This is my bench. I'm relaxing on it. Now if you shut up I won't make you leave, but if you annoy me any more I'll be forced to have you removed. Clear?"

John thought for a moment. This was better than sitting alone, albeit much more weird. And he was much less bored, now. "...Fine." He muttered, returning his attentions to the sunset.

They sat in peace for some time, John surprised by how comfortable he was and trying hard to push down the craving to stroke his fingers through the man's hair. He really shouldn't have been comfortable since there was a crazy person lying on him, but his feelings had been strange lately and if this one was positive he wasn't going to question it too much. He'd been home from Afghanistan for five years now, and this was probably the most content he'd been. The man’s presence made him feel safe, in a strange way. Normal. Something about his eyes, so bright and intelligent, made him feel nostalgic for something. He couldn’t quite remember what.

"Sherlock." The man below him said. John blinked, removed from his reverie.

"Pardon?"

"Sherlock Holmes. That's my name. You were curious."

John paused, then nodded. He had been curious, but not planning on asking. "John Watson. If I may ask... why did you put your head in my lap?"

Sherlock looked up at him for a very long time, gaze intensified by the bed of dark curls framing his pale face. "I... I wanted to see what you would do." He finally said. Sherlock sat up suddenly, looking as the last edge of sun slipped below the horizon. Then he got up and left, leaving John alone in the dark, feeling very, very confused.

 

* * *

 

John started going to the park every day after that, hoping to see Sherlock again. He always went at sunset, though days and days passed and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. It had felt so natural to tell Harry he couldn't have dinner with her because he was on a date that night, and the night after that.

He really wanted to see Sherlock more, maybe even actually date him although that was a ridiculous idea. He was a depressed, mentally and physically damaged old veteran with a limp, and Sherlock was an ethereal sex god. Or, at least he was at night when John was lonely and hard.

He’d searched Sherlock up on the internet after their meeting, but there’d been no results. Not a single word of him. John figured he’d either been given a fake name or he was seeing things.

Three months after the initial incident John was sitting on his bench, eating a sandwich and watching the sunset. He turned to look as somebody sat with him on the bench, eyes bright with excitement until he saw it wasn't Sherlock. He sighed softly at the well-dressed man, turning back to the pond.

"So." The man said, tapping his umbrella against the side of the bench. "What is the nature of your relationship with Sherlock Holmes?"

John turned his head so fast he pulled a muscle. "Ow. Um. Nothing. I mean, there is no relationship. I met him once, we hardly talked."

"And yet you've come to this park every day since."

John blinked at the man. "Well... yeah. It's a nice park. Have you been watching me?"

"I have my reasons to. What do you intended to do with him?"

John glared, deciding he didn't quite like this man. "Nothing that concerns you. I assume you know him? Might want to tell him not to talk to strangers."

The man chuckled. "Ah, he's not exactly the listening type. I assure you, Dr. Watson-"

"How do you know my name?!"

The man continued as though John hadn't spoken. "-that if you continue this obsession with Sherlock Holmes it will only end in him being upset. I have reason to avoid that. I'll give you... fifty-thousand pounds to stop seeking him."

"... _What_!?”

"Fifty-thousand pounds, Dr. Watson. Take it or leave it."

"What the fuck is going on here?" John demanded standing up and staring at the man incredulously. "Who are you?"

"A friend, John. Will you take the money?"

John thought about it, he honestly did. Fifty thousand could do a lot for a bloke. "No. Keep your money."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Really? You care so much about a man you met only once?"

John shook his head. "That's not it. I just don't accept money from creepy strangers."

The man chuckled and stood up, offering John his hand which he didn't take. "You're a man of strong moral fiber, John. A pity. I'll be seeing you again." He said before walking off, umbrella clacking against the pavement. John went home that night confused and somehow even more anxious to see Sherlock again. Something about that man had reminded him of Sherlock, in a way. The eyes. Or perhaps the fact that both men had accosted him at the park during the sunset.

John got his wish the next day, a fine Thursday evening. It smelled freshly of rain and the partly cloudy sky made it certain the sunset would be lovely. He hadn't even bitten into his sandwich when he felt the bench dip under somebody else's weight, the person pressed inappropriately close to him.

"Sherlock?" John asked, eyes wide in disbelief when he turned his head.

"John. What did Mycroft say to you?"

John blinked, not even entirely over the surprise of seeing Sherlock again before he was confused by his question.

"Who? Oh, the man from yesterday? He said a lot of things, offered me money to never come here again. Who is he?"

"An enemy." Sherlock said seriously. "Did you take the money?"

John shook his head. "Of course not, I barely know him. Besides... I wanted to... you know. See you again." He blushed and shrugged.

Sherlock looked at him for a long while.

"Well. Here I am." To John's delight he flopped down onto his side and put his head in his lap.

John felt a lot less hesitant and startled this time, and gingerly started brushing his fingers through Sherlock's curls, gazing down at him. "Would you... well, like to go to dinner sometime?" He asked quietly, figuring it was a safe bet to ask since they were currently so cozy.

"No." Sherlock said bluntly, eyes closed contently as John's fingers combed through his hair.

John laughed. An honest to goodness laugh for the first time in years. "No? You'll put your head in my lap but won't go to dinner?"

"Correct." Sherlock said, peeking an eye open mischievously. "Problem?"

John laughed again. "Well, yeah. I want to go to dinner with you."

"But I don't want to go with you."

"But you _do_ want to... ah, cuddle up to me in the middle of a park."

Sherlock nodded. "Mm-hm."

John chuckled. "Well, alright. At least you're honest about it. Would you at least like to come to my flat? It's less chilly and my sofa is more comfortable than the bench... are you alright?"

Sherlock had stiffened as soon as John had mentioned his flat, eyes squeezing shut.

"Hey..." John murmured, feeling the need to comfort him. He was so attached to Sherlock, he knew that it was odd but it was true. He petted his hair, brushing his fringe back from his forehead. "You don't have to, of course. It was just a suggestion. Let's stay here, I'm perfectly happy here."

Sherlock nodded almost imperceptibly, face relaxing though his eyes remained closed. They sat together like that for over an hour, John stroking his hair and Sherlock allowing it, soft breaths passing his lips visible in the cold air. "John..." He sighed, opening his eyes as he did. He sat up then, leaving John's legs feeling cold and rather devoid of Sherlock's head. His legs quite liked Sherlock's head. He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to John's cheek before leaving.

John went home that night alone, confused, and very happy. He didn't even realize he'd forgotten his cane until a homeless man delivered it to him the next morning.


	2. Chapter 2

He hated his flat.

Too big, that was the problem really. John's flat was just too big. There were two floors, for Christ's sake. John was reminded every time he walked through the door how alone he was. There was an empty bedroom upstairs that sat vacant, but his landlady kept his rent low enough that he didn’t need a roommate. That was good, he was rubbish with people.

Everything always felt off in his flat, too. He would never admit it, but John was fairly certain it was haunted. Everywhere he turned he swore he caught a glimpse somebody else there, just out of the corner of his eye. Every time he opened the fridge he felt a sense of dread for no reason he could explain. He'd brought it up to the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, once, asking her if anybody had died there. She had said no, but her eyes had welled up and she'd told him to leave. They hadn't spoken of it since.

Sherlock had started meeting him every day at the park. He would rest his head in John’s lap, John would stroke his hair, and when the sun went down he would leave. Once John had got the flu and missed a day and Sherlock had been so cross he'd sat across from him on the bench in stony silence, not even deigning to look his way. He stayed, though. John thought that that spoke volumes.

Every couple of days John would ask him out or over to his flat. Even when it was raining so hard it felt like it was soaking through the layers of John's skin Sherlock refused. As the months turned colder they hid under trees to avoid the freezing rain, John hugging Sherlock close to his body and Sherlock bending awkwardly so John could still pet his hair. It was an odd relationship to be sure, but it was still the best part of John's day.

John slowly found himself falling for Sherlock. He thought of him constantly, and he was always happiest when he was with him. Sherlock was the oddest person he’d ever met. He was so utterly brilliant that John could barely believe he was real, he’d been able to tell John everything about his military past and about his sister. He hadn’t gotten a single detail wrong. He could do the same to strangers walking by and John was endlessly entertained by his descriptions. Sometimes Sherlock would throw in an absurd lie just to make John laugh. Sherlock looked at him like he was important. Sherlock made him happy.

He kissed Sherlock one day while it was raining, just a light drizzle. There’d been a trickle of water slipping down Sherlock’s cheek, and as John leaned in to brush it away he caught Sherlock’s eyes. Those impossible eyes, wide and staring at him. He’d gazed at him for what seemed like ages before giving into his instinct and kissing him softly. Sherlock hadn’t said anything, had barely moved for the rest of their time together. His eyes fluttered and his mouth hung slightly open, and when the sun set he’d toddled off in a daze. The next day Sherlock came back and kissed John hard, pinning him against the tree and hardly letting him breathe the whole evening. After that, John went home every night with swollen lips.

One day, though, it was particularly dreadful out. It was pouring rain with thunder, lightning sure to come any moment. "Sherlock, you have to come home with me!" He shouted over the howling wind. "It's not safe out here and I'm going home whether you follow or not!"

"...Fine." Sherlock muttered, nuzzled into the crook of John's neck. "But nobody can see me."

John brightened. "Really? You'll come?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, but you have to keep me hidden. Promise."

"Yeah, of course!" John said excitedly, kissing his cheek. He took his hand and held it tight as they ran through the rain, laughing at the mess of Sherlock's curls sticking to his face. They ran right to his flat, not bothering with a cab, and dashed inside. They raced up the stairs and through the door, collapsing into giggles once they were inside.

"God, Sherlock, you're soaked to the bone! I'll bring you some pajamas, okay? Don't want you freezing to death." He turned to him, expecting to see his smile mirrored back only Sherlock's had fallen off of his face. He looked trapped inside his head. "Hey..." John said softly, cupping his cheek and coaxing Sherlock to meet his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock blinked at him, shaking his head. "No. It's nothing." He forced a smile, covering John's hand on his cheek with his own. "It's nothing. You said something about pajamas? I'm cold."

John nodded, leaning into him with a sigh. "I'll get them for you... you never talk. About real things. Yourself. You can. If you want." He kissed his jaw before walking to his room and grabbing some sweats and a t-shirt for Sherlock, changing into the same thing himself before heading out. He also grabbed a towel from the bathroom, drying his hair and smiling at Sherlock back in the living room. He was surprised to see Sherlock had made two cups of tea. "Thanks, love." He murmured, handing him the clothes. "The bathroom is just down the hall."

Sherlock nodded, heading right for it and slipping in, coming out quite a while later. His eyes were red like he'd been crying, but John chose not to mention it. He sat down on the sofa, the teas on the coffee table, and smiled invitingly at Sherlock. Instead of setting his head in John's lap he sat beside him on the sofa, curling up against him and cuddling like a proper couple would. John wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his head, sighing. "I love you, you know." He mumbled, rubbing his shoulder.

Sherlock nodded. "I know." He said quietly, eyes squeezed shut. "I know. You really shouldn't."

John laughed. "Maybe. But I do."

Sherlock nodded, curling up tight to John and holding onto him so hard it hurt. John didn't understand why he seemed so terribly heartbroken. "Sh... Sherlock, hush now. Don't think anymore. You get so upset when you think." He kissed his forehead, bringing up a hand to start stroking through his curls. "Shh... just listen to me. Just listen, okay? You're going to be fine. We're going to cuddle on the couch, and you'll stay with me tonight. I've a spare bedroom you can use, or you could sleep with me, if you like. I have nightmares, though, just to warn you. Anyhow, you're going to stay over because the weather is far too terrible for you to go anywhere, and then tomorrow morning I'll make you breakfast. Okay?"

Sherlock shook his head, burrowing into John's chest and trembling. "I'm so sorry." He whispered, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, John, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry." He kept whispering it over and over, saying sorry and sorry until John couldn't take it anymore.

"Sherlock, stop!" John said, startling Sherlock and making him look up. "Stop it. You have nothing to be sorry for, I don't understand. You've done nothing but make me happy these past months, I was miserable until I met you. Please, Sherlock." He kissed the bridge of his nose. "Please. Don't apologize." He held him close, kissing his head. "I love you. I don't know anything about you, but I know I love you." He pressed his face to Sherlock's curls, feeling the other's shoulders shake. He was crying and John knew he couldn't do anything about it but hold him, murmuring that it was okay. He forgave him for anything and everything he could be apologizing for.

“Listen, love…” John said softly once Sherlock’s crying had devolved into little sniffles. “I don’t know what’s upsetting you so, and you don’t have to tell me, but… I’ve got you, okay? If you need to cry, or you want to talk, or you just want to be close to somebody. I’m here. I love you.” He kissed Sherlock’s forehead.

“I… I loved somebody. I loved him so much, this man. And I had to leave him, because I was putting him in danger. And now, with you-“ Sherlock looked up at him. “What if I have to leave again? I can’t do it again, John, get attached to you and need you and then just have to give it up.”

John smiled. “Well, then I’ll make it easy on you.” He kissed Sherlock softly. “Because I’m never, ever letting you go.”

Sherlock started up crying again and hid himself away in John’s chest, letting the other man stroke his curls and whisper platitudes until he had nearly fallen asleep. John took him to his bed and tucked him in, curling up beside him. “I love you.” He whispered, gazing at Sherlock’s face, peaceful in sleep.

Sherlock waited until John was asleep to tell him he loved him too.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Sherlock was gone. John sighed. He shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet he’d let himself hope that his boyfriend would stick around.

Was Sherlock his boyfriend? It didn’t seem right to call him that. They didn’t date, not really, and John really didn’t know anything about him. Still, he felt closer to Sherlock than he did to anybody else. He loved spending time with Sherlock, listening to him ‘deduce’ (as Sherlock called it) people walking by in the park. A day without Sherlock was now to be considered an incomplete day.

Sherlock wasn’t his boyfriend.

Sherlock was his everything.

He went to the park that day at their usual time, just before sunset. He waited and waited. He finished his sandwich, he fed the ducks. No Sherlock.

Just as he was about to give up and leave the man finally showed up, sitting on the other end of the bench. In lieu of a greeting, Sherlock softly said “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

John blinked. “What?”

“You’re not deaf, John. This is the last time I want to see you.”

John felt like he was going to be sick. “But… is this about last night? Look, love, forget about that. I mean, I thought… I liked it. Having you in my flat, falling asleep with you. God, I wish I could have that every night. If it’s about the…” John lowered his voice. “the crying, you don’t have to worry. I told you, you don’t have to tell me why. Please, love.”

Sherlock let out a shaky breath. “It’s not about that. I simply don’t wish to continue meeting with you.”

“Bullshit!” John shouted, standing up and looking down at Sherlock, hard to see because of how dark it had gotten. “That’s such crap, Sherlock. All those evenings together, they meant nothing to you? When we kissed under that tree, or when I told you war stories and you told me about the anatomy of gadflies. What about when you spent the whole evening counting my freckles? You can’t tell me that was nothing, Sherlock. You can’t.”

Sherlock looked away. “It was… enjoyable. However I can’t-“

“Shut up! I don’t care what stupid excuse you’re going to make. I love you, Sherlock. I _love_ you. I know _nothing_ about you but I trust you with my life. I do, and if you try and say you don’t love me back I won’t believe it.” John said, feeling his eyes well up which he _hated_.

Sherlock was quiet for a long, long time. “John… You don’t remember. I know you don’t, and that’s my fault, but… If this had been before, I would have jumped at the chance.  But I can’t now, because you don’t know me. You don’t know what’s happened, and you can’t know. That was the deal I made to keep you safe, and I won’t go back on it. I shouldn’t have come to you before. That was a mistake. I won’t see you again. I won’t put you in danger.”

John shook his head. “Sherlock, I don’t understand.” He said, taking a step forward and bending down so he could wrap his arms around Sherlock. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re not putting me in danger. I swear you’re not, I’ve never felt safer than when I’m around you. I love you so much, Sherlock. Please don’t do this.”

Sherlock tried to stay stiff and cold but he was unable to hold back a sob. Pressing into John’s embrace, he choked out, “I don’t want to! I don’t, I want to be with you, but I can’t. Not yet, not yet…”

“Shh…” John soothed, stroking his hair. “Listen to me, love. You can. I know you can, because you have been. It’s been months and we’ve been together, nothing went wrong. Just… come home with me again. Let me take care of you, that’s all I want. Let me keep you safe, let me hold you.”

“I have to… Mycroft said this was enough, but I’ve still been checking. I haven’t found anything in months, that’s why I’ve been with you, but… what if there’s something left? What if I missed it and it gets you killed?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” John said softly, rubbing his back. “What were you checking? How could it kill me?”

“The web. It… John, take me home. You can’t let anybody see me, but I need you to take me home. I- I’ll explain. I’ll tell you everything. You’ll hate me, but I have to.” Sherlock whispered, eyes wide and frantic.

John nodded. “I won’t hate you… Okay, love. Okay, come home with me. I’ve got you.” He kissed him softly, so relieved that he hadn’t broken up with him that he couldn’t even manage to be irritated at how cryptic he was being. He took Sherlock by the hand and led him to the street, confused by the way he looked around fearfully, coat collar raised and head down. Like he was hiding. Maybe Sherlock was under witness protection? John hoped not, he didn’t want him to be in danger. He supposed yesterday in the pouring rain he had no reason to be worried, but now he acted like everything was a potential threat, startling whenever somebody brushed past him.

At the door to John’s flat Sherlock froze, backing away. “I can’t- make sure Mrs. Hudson isn’t there. She can’t see me, she can’t, John, you can’t let her-“

“Alright.” John interrupted, taking his other hand and facing him. “Okay, Sherlock. If you don’t want Mrs. Hudson to see you then I won’t let her. I’m going to take care of you, love. I promise.” He gave him a little smile before pecking his cheek. “You wait here, I’ll peek inside.”

John opened the door and looked in, not seeing Mrs. Hudson in the hall. “She’s not there, darling. You run up to my flat first, that way she’ll see me and not you if she comes out.”

Sherlock nodded, looking cautiously inside after John before rushing to the stairs, dashing up to John’s flat startlingly quickly, taking the steps two at a time. John followed shortly after, thankful Mrs. Hudson seemed to be out. He walked up to the flat and walked in to see Sherlock looking startled. “Love, what…?” He walked closer, and saw that on the floor of the kitchen was Mrs. Hudson, unconscious. “Jesus!” He rushed to her, checking her pulse. “You found her like this?”

Sherlock shook his head, looking close to tears. “I… I scared her.”

John frowned. “Really? I can’t imagine why you’d frighten her to the point of fainting… She didn’t hit her head or anything, right?”

“No. No, she’s fine. I think she’s fine.” He said, looking plagued with guilt.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. Help me get her to the couch, would you?” John asked, lifting her head from the ground to check for bumps or bleeding, but she was fine. Sherlock came over and helped John lift Mrs. Hudson over to the couch and get her lying down. John covered her with the afghan she’d given him. “She’s going to be just fine, Sherlock. It’s all fine.” He murmured, looking over to him. “Oh, love…”

A tear had slipped down Sherlock’s cheek, looking at Mrs. Hudson with the most pained expression John had ever seen. It made his heart hurt. He got up and went to Sherlock, wrapping him up in a hug. “Shh… She’ll wake up soon. You can apologize, and everything will be okay. We’ll just tell her you’re-“

“No!” Sherlock pulled out of John’s embrace. “She can’t see me! She wasn’t supposed to, I have to- Let me hide. I have to hide until she’s gone. I won’t leave, John, I promise. I’ll stay upstairs in your- in the spare. The spare room. I’ll stay there and you fetch me when she’s gone. She can’t see me, you can’t tell her about me, you can’t even mention I’m here. Nothing!”

John blinked at him, surprised by the angry outburst. “Christ. Okay, okay fine. As long as you promise to stay and explain. I need to know what this is all about, Sherlock. I can’t help you if I don’t know.”

Sherlock nodded jerkily. “Yes. Yes, I’ll explain, but she can’t see me.” He rushed forward and kissed John firmly before turning and running up the stairs, shutting the door to the spare room behind him. John sighed, he had no fucking idea what Sherlock was on about and it was starting to really scare him. He sat in his chair and waited patiently for Mrs. Hudson to wake up, listening for any indication of Sherlock trying to escape somehow.

After about twenty minutes Mrs. Hudson awoke, looking over to John. “Sherlock?” She said softly, blinking. John was surprised, quickly stopping himself from asking her how she knew who Sherlock was. He’d said not to mention him.

“No, Mrs. Hudson. It’s me, John. You fainted.” He explained. “How do you feel?”

Mrs. Hudson frowned, looking saddened by something. “Not that well, dear. My head hurts terribly, I must’ve really wacked it. I… Oh, it’s the silliest thing. I thought… Well, I thought I saw a ghost.”

John nodded. “I thought it was just a fright of some sort. Glad it wasn’t a mouse.”

Mrs. Hudson scoffed. “As though I’d be scared of a little mouse. I’ve lived in places where you have to worry about snakes ending up in your bed, mice don’t scare me. Could you help me sit up?”

John helped her, happy she didn’t seem dizzy. “Would you like to have tea? Stay as long as you need.”

“I’d love it, dear, but I was actually in a rush. I was up here to drop off some extra things, I bought too much at the store and put the leftovers in the fridge, and now I’m going to visit Speedy’s for a while. I’m late as it is.” Mrs. Hudson tried to stand, and John grimaced.

“Please, you should rest a while. You’ve just fainted.”

Mrs. Hudson shook her head, standing. “No, I really have to go. It’s no trouble, love, it’s just downstairs. I promise I’ll sit the whole time.”

John sighed. “Well, at least let me walk you there. I really don’t want you to faint again.”

Mrs. Hudson laughed, though her eyes still looked sad. “I don’t want that either. I’d love your company, John. Thank you.”

John held her arm as they left the flat and went down the stairs, watching her nervously even as she chastised him and told him not to worry so much. He made her sit down as soon as they were inside the café, giving her a stern warning to come see him if she felt dizzy, nauseous, or if she fainted again. She agreed and sent him off with a little wave. He was grateful to be able to get back to Sherlock, rushing to the flat and to the spare room. “It’s me.” He called before opening it. He was surprised to find Sherlock fast asleep on the mattress. It was terribly cute. John joined him, snuggling up close and holding him until he woke up a while later with a little yawn. He smiled sleepily at John.

“Mm, s’you.” Sherlock said, looking blearily at him.

John chuckled and kissed his nose. “Yes it is. Mrs. Hudson is fine, she’s at the little café by the flat. How are you? Had a nice nap?”

Sherlock nodded. “Mhmm… M’glad she’s okay. You’re a good doctor, always so good. My John…” His eyes fluttered shut again. John kissed him.

“No, sleeping beauty. It’s time to wake up, now. We need to have a chat, okay? Then you can sleep all you like.” John nudged him gently. Sherlock whined and nuzzled into his neck.

“Don’t wanna.” He mumbled, somehow pouting in his half-asleep state.

“I know, love. But I bet you’ll feel better after. And then there won’t be any secrets between us, won’t that be nice? I’ll know you more. We can be a real couple. You could even live here, if you-“ John felt Sherlock stiffen at the suggestion. “Or not. Whatever you like. But we need to talk.” He kissed his head and smiled a little when Sherlock pulled away, much more alert.

“Yes… Yes I suppose we do.” Sherlock said, pulling away from John and sitting up. “I… I know you, John. I knew you before that day in the park. And you knew me, too. It’s just… you’ve forgotten. I made you forget.”

John smiled a little, confused. “You made me forget? How exactly would you have done that?”

“Before I jumped. A man came past you in a bicycle, injected you with… It was something Mycroft gave me. His Baskerville team developed it. They inject that, and it… It aids in suggestion. They told you… They told you that you’d never met me. You’d never heard of Sherlock Holmes. And it worked.”

John nibbled his lip. He was worried Sherlock was mentally unstable. “Okay…” He said gently, reaching forward to rub Sherlock’s back. “And why would you want me to forget you?”

Sherlock looked at him and frowned. “I know you don’t believe me, John, but this is the truth. Moriarty said he wanted to ruin me. He sent me a message that he would, and he would get rid of the last piece of my good name. That was you. I knew that if you forgot me, he wouldn’t kill you. It was terrible to have you look at me and not know who I was... I bumped into you once. Two years ago, I purposefully knocked you down and helped you up. You looked right into my eyes but… You didn’t know me. You’d forgotten.” He shook his head. “But it was good. You were safe and I was dead, and-“

“You were dead? Sherlock you’re not making sense.” John cupped his cheek. “You need to slow down, love. Start from the beginning, okay? Slow. Explain this all to me.”

Sherlock nodded. “I’m trying, John.” He shifted over to John and rested his head on his shoulder, sighing as John wrapped an arm around him. “We met over three years ago at St. Bart’s hospital. Mike Stamford introduced us, you still see him sometimes… This was my flat. You were looking for a flatmate because yours was small, but you couldn’t afford anything better on your pension. This was your room…”

John sighed. “Sherlock, this is my flat. I bought this flat five years ago, Mrs. Hudson lowered the rent for me.”

“And why would she do that?” Sherlock asked, lifting his head to look at him. “Why would a woman you’ve never met give you a deal on a flat in the middle of London?”

John frowned, trying to remember. His head felt funny. “She… Because. She’s nice. Mrs. Hudson’s a very nice lady.”

“Nobody is that nice, John. She gave me a discount on the flat because I knew her. I helped her once, this place was a favour.”

John shook his head. “No it’s not, Sherlock. Are you screwing with me? Because if you are I’m not having it. I just want to talk to you, love. Actually talk. I want to know you.”

“I’m not… This is the truth. I can prove it. Lestrade.” Sherlock said, taking John’s hand.

“Greg? What does he have to do with this? How do you even know him?”

“How did you meet him? Tell me, how did you meet Detective-Inspector Lestrade?”

John winced, his head starting to ache. “I… We must’ve met… I can’t remember, okay? But that doesn’t prove anything, I’m getting old. I forget things.”

“What about Molly? When did you meet Molly, your friend Molly? She brings you treats sometimes, but she never stays long. Something about this place makes her sad, what is it? Why do you have scars that you don’t remember getting? You didn’t get those in the army, what were you doing that scarred you? When did you get your job at the clinic?”

“I don’t know!” John shouted, clutching at his head. He felt like it was going to explode from all the pressure. “Fuck, I don’t know! I don’t remember, but that doesn’t mean- I couldn’t have forgotten you, Sherlock. I met you at the park, I know I did. Please, just stop this. Stop it.”

“John…” Suddenly Sherlock’s hands were covering his on his head, soft kisses being peppered across his hairline. “Shh… I know it hurts. Mycroft said it would hurt, we just need to take a break. Let’s take a break.” He gently pulled John’s hands away from his head and replaced them with his own, massaging him lightly and easing the horrible ache inside his skull. “I’m sorry… Lie down, John. We’ll try again tomorrow, just lie down…” He let Sherlock ease him back, his eyes feeling terribly heavy. Before he knew it he was lying down and covered in blankets, Sherlock cuddled close to him. “Go to sleep, John. We’ll try again. It’s okay.”

John drifted off, his head filled with dreams that were fuzzy and uncoordinated, never quite clear enough to understand. 


	3. Chapter 3

John woke up late the next morning, the light from the window hitting his face at a strange angle. He realised it was because he was in the wrong room, the spare, though his blanket had been brought to him. Strange, though his mind was always so foggy in the mornings. He forced himself up and out of bed, walking downstairs with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He desperately needed some tea.

Sherlock, he remembered suddenly. Sherlock had been there. He sighed deeply; he was sure that the man was gone again.

“John!”

He blinked, turning to the sound. Sherlock was on the couch, using John’s laptop for something or another. John smiled. “You’re still here.”

Sherlock nodded. “Very perceptive. How do you feel?”

“Strange.” John admitted. “Dizzy. What happened yesterday? We were talking, and then… Oh god, I didn’t fall asleep while you were talking to me, did I? Oh, love I’m so sorry.”

Sherlock pushed the laptop off his lap, got up, and wrapped his arms around John, kissing his head. “Don’t be sorry, you didn’t do that. You were looking tired so I stopped talking and we went to sleep. Well, you did. I stayed with you.”

John kissed him. “That’s sweet of you… Mm, my head hurts. I’m going to make some tea, would you like some?”

Sherlock looked lost for a second. “Ah- yes. Yes, I’d like a tea, John.” He said softly, his voice suddenly full of emotion. “Thank you.”

John nodded, looking at him strangely. He shrugged, kissing him softly again before heading to the kitchen. “How’d you get into my laptop? There’s a password.” He called as he started up the kettle. He heard a snort from the other room.

“I’d hardly call my name a password.”

John blushed. “It’s a very unique name! Shut up or I’ll only make tea for myself.”

Sherlock gasped in fake horror. “You wouldn’t _dare_.”

John laughed. He fixed the teas and brought them to the living room, giving one to Sherlock and taking a seat next to him. Sherlock took a sip of his tea, then looked over at John with a soft smile. “You didn’t ask me how I like it.” He whispered.

John rolled his eyes at himself. “No I didn’t. I’m sorry love, I’ll fetch you another. What do you like?”

“You don’t understand.” Sherlock said, eyes bright. “You made it how I like it, _exactly_ how I like it. You’re remembering.”

“Remembering? What are you talking about?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Nothing, nothing… Just- Thank you. For the tea. Thank you very much.”

John smiled a little. “Hm, you’re a bit strange, you know that?” He asked, leaning over to kiss his cheek and check out what he was doing on the laptop. “What’s that?”

“My website.” Sherlock explained. “I had it down for a while, but I’ve decided to put it back up. I’m going to have to reveal myself soon.”

“Reveal yourself?” John repeated. “Mm, I should hope it’s not to anybody but me.”

Sherlock shoved him playfully. “Shut up. To the world, I mean. I… Never mind. You don’t understand yet, but that’s okay.” He kissed John softly. “You’ll remember. Do you like it?” He passed the laptop over to John.

“’The Science of Deduction’” John read, scanning quickly through the first page of the site. “Hm… Looks interesting. Very you, lots of fancy condescension.”

Sherlock chuckled. “You know me well.” He shut the laptop and set it aside, plopping his head in John’s lap instead. “What you said earlier. About me living here. Is that still… does that offer still stand?”

John smiled. ”As my flatmate or my boyfriend?”

Sherlock grimaced. “That term is juvenile. I’d rather you called me… Oh, I don’t know. Your partner. That at least is more dignified.”

“Nope.” John shook his head. “If you want to live here I get to call you my boyfriend. Those are the rules.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He muttered, curling up and pressing his face to John’s stomach, sighing happily when John started to stroke his fingers through his curls. “Hm... would you mind if I tried asking you a few questions? It might work better if you’re calm.”

John frowned, a little concerned. “Ah… alright. What is it?”

“Just… wondering about your past is all. When did you get back from Afghanistan?”

“Five years ago.” John told him, smiling down at him. He liked that Sherlock was curious about him. Maybe that meant John could learn more about him, too. “I got shot, as you know, and was invalided.”

Sherlock nodded. “Right. And after you returned to London, where did you stay?”

“Here.” John said. “I stayed with Harry for a few months after the hospital, and then I moved here.”

“Mhmm… How did you afford such a nice place? It’s right in the center of London, and it’s a two bedroom upscale flat. How did you afford that on only an army pension?”

John blinked, his mind going a bit fuzzy. “Ah… Mrs. Hudson. She gave me a great deal.”

“Why?”

“Um…” John frowned. “Hm… I don’t remember, actually. Funny.”

“That’s alright.” Sherlock said, smiling at him. “We’ll get there… Who are your friends, John? Can you name them for me?”

“Sure. Does that mean I can introduce you to them?” John asked hopefully.

Sherlock shook his head. “Not yet. I’m still in hiding. Name some of your friends, John. First name and last.”

John looked strangely at him. “This sounds more like an interview than a friendly chat, y’know. Hm… well, there’s Mike Stamford. He’s an old uni mate, and there’s… there’s Greg. Greg Lestrade, I go to the pub with him sometimes. And Molly Hooper, she’s a sweet girl. Works at the hospital, she comes by and brings food every so often. I can’t say why, I suppose she’s just one of those care taking types. Never stays here long, I don’t think she likes the flat. Sarah Sawyer, she’s my boss. We used to date, actually. Oh, and Mary Morstan. She just started at my work, nice girl. We get lunch together sometimes.”

“I see. Can I ask how you met them?” Sherlock asked, sitting up and moving to sit in John’s lap, resting his head on his shoulder. “You met Mike at university and Mary and Sarah at work. What about Molly and Lestrade? Where did you meet them?”

“I must’ve met Molly at the hospital. She’s a pathologist, I suppose I was… I can’t quite remember, but I’m sure it was at the hospital. It must’ve been. I think… she brought me coffee, didn’t she? She brought me coffee, or… no, not me. You.” John looked at Sherlock for a moment. “No, why would she…?” He shook his head. “Sorry. No, I met her at the hospital.”

Sherlock kissed his neck. “It’s okay, John. What about Lestrade? Where did you meet him?”

“Greg… I think…” John frowned. “Ah, it was… I think it was at a house. There was a house I was in…” He felt odd, his head ached and his mind seemed to be filled with fog. He was suddenly very dizzy. “Pink. She was pink, but… no, she was very pale because she was dead. And you, you knew… It was raining.”

Sherlock kept kissing at his neck as he spoke to him. “What else, John? What happened with the pink woman?”

Sherlock’s kisses lulled John, made him less panicked as memories that were unfamiliar to him filled his head. “Mm, she was dead. She killed herself, but you… you said she didn’t. She was murdered. And the man, the… the cabbie. And he tried to kill you but I shot him.”

“Good, John.” Sherlock murmured, straddling his lap and kissing up his jaw. “What happened after that? After you shot him?”

“We got Chinese food.” John whispered. “And I thought… I thought you looked so beautiful, but I wasn’t… I couldn’t have a thing for you. You’re my flatmate, and you’re a bit mad, and… Oh, but you were so… Sherlock, my head hurts.”

Sherlock kissed his forehead. “I know, my John. I know, it’s okay. Is that all?”

John felt tears slipping down his cheeks. “You were so beautiful, even with all that blood… Oh, it was everywhere, and I held your hand but it was so cold, because…” A sob wracked his body. “Stop it, Sherlock. Please, I… make it go away.”

Sherlock kissed him, cupping his cheek. “Okay, John. That’s enough. Do you want to forget?”

John nodded, terribly confused. He had awful images in his head, Sherlock dead on the pavement, Sherlock’s face with the red dot of a sniper rifle, dead bodies of people he didn’t recognize, and he could do nothing but watch Sherlock and hope that he would make it okay. “Make it stop, Sherlock.” He said, barely recognizing his own voice, high and scared as it was.

“Just forget again, John.” Sherlock whispered in his ear, petting John’s hair. “Just forget. You met me in the park, didn’t you? You’ve only just met me. You live here alone, right?”

“No- No you lived here too.” John said. “I remember, you did! You lived here! How did you live here, Sherlock? I don’t understand!”

“Shh…” Sherlock held John tightly. “No, John. Not yet, you’re not ready yet. You just met me. You met me in the park, remember? You live here alone.”

“I… in the park.” John whispered.

“That’s right, John. We met in the park. Talk to me about the park, John. Talk to me about the park until you fall asleep.”

John nodded. Sleep sounded like heaven just then. “Right… we met at sunset. You put your head in my lap. And then you disappeared.”

Sherlock kissed his forehead. “Yes, I did. Do you remember when we kissed?”

John smiled. “Yeah…” His eyes slipped shut, nuzzling close to Sherlock. “We kissed on the bench, and then you kissed me under the tree. It was nice.”

“It really was.” Sherlock whispered kissing him softly. “Remember when you said you loved me? Right here on this couch. And then you took me to bed and helped me sleep, just like I’m helping you now.”

John hummed. “Sleep…” He sighed, letting his head fall forward. “Sleep is…” Before he could finish the thought he was resting peacefully against Sherlock’s shoulder, snoring softly.

 

* * *

 

John awoke what felt like hours later, but had really only been about twenty minutes. Sherlock was still there on his lap, whispering something to himself. He tried to listen in, but Sherlock quickly noticed he was awake and stopped. “John?” He lifted his head, looking worriedly at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” John murmured, smiling and him and leaning in to kiss him softly. “I guess I had a little nap… I had the strangest dream about you.”

“You did?” Sherlock asked, looking far more interested than John would have expected. “Tell me about it.”

John thought back on the odd dream. “Hm… You were being chased by a giant hound. A huge dog, bright red eyes, a terrifying thing. I was running with you, and we were both terrified. You kept insisting it wasn’t real even though we were running from it.” He laughed, kissing Sherlock’s cheek. “But we outran it, so I guess it wasn’t a big deal whether it was real or not.”

Sherlock hummed. “Strange.” He said softly, kissing John before sliding off his lap. “How’s your head?” He asked, heading to the kitchen with the cups of tea from earlier. He dumped them out in the sink and John heard him start the kettle again.

“Fine… I’m a little nauseous, though. I don’t usually take naps like that, I must be coming down with something.” John mused, getting up to join Sherlock in the kitchen. He hugged him from behind, kissing his neck happily. “I like waking up with you there.” He murmured. “…Are you going to stay here?”

Sherlock paused. “I… I think so, yes. If you’re alright with it. Would you be?”

John nodded, squeezing him tighter. “Of course I would be. Of course, please. Stay.”

Sherlock turned around in his arms and leaned against him, mumbling something John couldn’t hear into his hair.

“What was that, love?” John asked, cupping his cheek and smiling brightly.

“Italian. You wouldn’t have understood. _Vita mia_.” Sherlock smiled and kissed his forehead. “Now go sit, you have a headache and nausea.” He took John by the shoulders and led him back to the couch before grabbing their teas from the kitchen. He sat with John on the couch, resting his head on John’s shoulder.

“So, you know Italian?” John asked, amused.

Sherlock nodded. “Among other languages, yes.”                                               

“And you chose to speak to me in a language I don’t know because…?”

Sherlock sighed. “Because I wasn’t saying it just for you. I was reminding myself.”

John kissed Sherlock’s temple, setting his tea on the coffee table and wrapping his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders. “You’re kind of confusing, you know.”

Sherlock smiled a little. “Yes, I know. But you love me anyway.”

“Yes.” John sighed and rested his forehead against Sherlock’s head. “God help me, yes. I really do.”


	4. Chapter 4

John didn’t know what the hell was going on.

Sherlock had told him the day before to tell Mrs. Hudson to visit them for lunch today. He was to tell Mrs. Hudson that he had a new boyfriend, but he wasn’t to tell her his name or anything else about him. Her reaction had been strange, she said she was thrilled for him, but she looked terribly sad. John had asked her what was wrong, but she’d insisted it was nothing and shooed him out of her flat. He was sure she’d started crying after he left.

Sherlock had been living with him for a few weeks now, but he never left the flat. One morning John had woken up to find all of Sherlock’s things suddenly all over the place. There was a violin by the window, laboratory equipment in the kitchen, and fancy clothes crowding his in the closet. When John had asked where it came from, Sherlock had shrugged and said ‘Mycroft’ and that had been the end of the conversation.

For lunch, Sherlock had made some very nice-smelling pasta. He fussed around the kitchen as though he was preparing lunch for the queen; he set the table, he dug John’s good tea set out of the cupboard, he used the good china... it was all very strange. Eventually, John had to intervene, Sherlock was practically shaking he was so nervous.

“Sherlock…” He took him by the hands. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. She’s a very nice woman, she’ll love you just as much as I do. Besides… she is just my landlady. I care about her a great deal, but her opinion of you won’t affect anything between us. Okay?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, no… she’s going to… you have to stand behind her. In case she faints again.”

John huffed. “Sherlock, she won’t faint. You startled her, that’s all. It had nothing to do with-“

“Just do it!” Sherlock shouted, pulling away from John. “I’ve had enough with your stupid platitudes! Just listen to me!”

John crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at Sherlock.

“…I’m sorry.” Sherlock mumbled after a few seconds. “Just… please? She might faint, and she hasn’t seen me in so long she might get mad and try to leave…”

“She knows you?”

Sherlock sighed. “Yes, John. She knows me. From before I died, I told you this.”

“And yet you appear remarkably alive.” John said, walking up to him and cupping his cheek. “Sweetheart… I don’t know why you keep insisting on this story. I would remember you.” He murmured, sighing and stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. Sherlock told him every day that he had faked his death, that he and John used to know each other. It had gotten to the point where John started to distract him every time he began to bring it up, either by kissing him or asking him about his experiments.

Sherlock rested his forehead against John’s. “You’ll remember soon. I know you will… this ought to help, I think. Mrs. Hudson coming by. This will prove it to you. I didn’t die, John, but everybody thought I did, and Mrs. Hudson… today I’m going to tell her I’m alive. You’ll see, this will prove it.” He kissed John softly.

John sighed. “Okay, love. Whatever you say.” He kissed Sherlock softly. “Can I steal a bite of pasta? It smells amazing.”

“Nope.” Sherlock smiled and nipped John’s lower lip before pulling away to finish plating everything. “Wait until Mrs. Hudson is here. I don’t want you to have sauce on your fingers or your face. You’re a messy eater.”

“Am not.” John muttered, sitting down at the table. “Are you sure I can’t do anything? I’m not totally useless in the kitchen, I swear.”

Sherlock kissed his cheek, passing him as he got some parmesan from the fridge and set it out in a bowl. “I know you’re not, but I’m much better. Besides, she’ll be here soon. I need you by the door to greet her. I’ll be in here, and... you tell her that your boyfriend is in the kitchen, and then I need you to send her in. Walk close behind her just in case, okay?”

John nodded, not wanting another argument. “Alright. Sounds fine.” He sent what he hoped was a comforting smile over to Sherlock. “Love you.”

Sherlock looked over at him, anxiety clear on his face. “I love you too, John. Thank you.” He walked over and leaned down to kiss John softly, smiling against his lips when John gently started stroking his hair. Sherlock jumped back when the door opened, cursing. “She’s early!” He hissed. “Go, John! Go, go, you have to-“

Mrs. Hudson stared into the kitchen, eyes wide and fixed on Sherlock. Sherlock looked back at her with about the same expression.

“Mrs. Hudson…” John said softly, walking to her and gently taking her arm. “This is my boyfriend. Sherlock.”

“...You see him too?” She asked, eyes watering. “He looks just the same, just… you see him, don’t you? John, you see him?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Of course I see him.” John said, utterly confused. “He’s right there. Do you know him? You seem like you-“

“I didn’t mean to leave it so long.” Sherlock interrupted, walking towards them. “You’re the only person who I’ve seen, after John. I’m terribly sorry to surprise you this way, I never meant to-“

“You bastard!” Mrs. Hudson shouted, walking right up to Sherlock. John’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, he’d _never_ heard Mrs. Hudson swear. He hadn’t thought she knew how. “Sherlock Holmes, you utter _bastard_ , letting me think you were dead for two years! Two whole years, and I went to your funeral and I cried and… And John! Oh, what you did to poor John! I ought to slap you!” Suddenly Mrs. Hudson was weeping, wrapping her arms around Sherlock and hugging him tightly. “And now you’ve got him lying for you! I knew I saw you that day, and he wouldn’t tell me who his boyfriend was. Oh, and I was so upset when he said he’d met someone, all I could think was ‘poor Sherlock! How upset he would be!’ but you were upstairs the whole bloody time!”

Sherlock kissed Mrs. Hudson’s forehead, hugging her and sighing softly. “I know. I’m sorry.” He mumbled.

The scene reminded John of when he’d been twelve years-old and tried to run away because he’d had a fight with his mum. When he’d come back (after only a few hours) it had been rather like this, his mum crying with relief and chastising him. But he didn’t understand how Mrs. Hudson could be acting like Sherlock’s mum when they’d only just met. “What’s going on?” He asked, rolling his eyes when Sherlock shot him a look that clearly said ‘you know what’s going on’ even though he really didn’t.

Mrs. Hudson, at least, seemed to want to answer John’s question. She managed to tug herself away from Sherlock, wiping her eyes and leaving black mascara smudges on the backs of her hands. “Sherlock, you haven’t told him? You have to tell him, it’s absolutely irresponsible not to. Though I must say it’s so sweet he cares about you without knowing. It’s like soul mates.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John could see that he was a little pleased. “I’ve been telling him, Mrs. Hudson. I really have, it’s just a complicated process. If I talk to him too much about it he gets headaches and… it affects him poorly. We have to get him to remember gradually.”

John shook his head. “Is this about the bloody dying thing again? Sherlock, you’re driving me mad!”

“She remembers me, John. Tell him.” He nudged Mrs. Hudson gently.

“Of course I remember… oh, John. I wish you remembered him too. None of us know why you can’t remember, apparently you hit your head, and-“

“No, he was hypnotized.” Sherlock explained. “I had to hypnotize him. It’s all very complicated. But tell him about before.”

Mrs. Hudson sighed exasperatedly. “Hypnotized. Honestly, Sherlock… anyway, John. Yes, so Sherlock was your boyfriend before, you both lived here and did your little cases, and you worked at the surgery like you do now… I don’t know when you ever got time for each other, but you seemed to make it work.”

“And then Sherlock died, right?” John said, unable to keep from getting angry. “Or faked his death or whatever the hell the story is. And poor John can’t remember him. I’m sick of this, Sherlock. I don’t know how you got Mrs. Hudson in on this, but-“

“It’s true!” Sherlock insisted, stepping towards him. “It’s true, John. Please… you don’t remember but you’re starting to. You really are, and... I’ll prove it, okay? I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer them without thinking. Just say whatever pops into your head, no thinking.”

John crossed his arms. “Fine. Play another game.”

“It’s not… you’ll see, John. Where’s the first place we ate together?”

John frowned. “What do you mean? You never eat, so I suppose the first time we actually ate at the same time-“

“You’re thinking.” Sherlock said with a huff. “Don’t think. Where did we first eat together?”

“What, like at a restaurant? We’ve never-“

“Where, John?”

“Angelo’s.” John blurted, then blinked in confusion. He didn’t even know what that was.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. What’s the first thing I ever said to you?”

John paused, wincing when Sherlock shouted. “Don’t think! What’s the first thing I said?”

“Afghanistan…” John looked at Sherlock, bewildered. “Afghanistan… or Iraq.”

Sherlock smiled, stepping forward again and wrapping his arms around John. “Yes. And you said…”

“Afghanistan.” John whispered, frowning. “And you… you took my phone.”

“Yes I did. Well, you gave it to me. It was very helpful in annoying Lestrade.” He smiled and gently kissed John’s forehead. “Do you remember?”

John nodded hesitantly. “I… I remember things, but I don’t remember them actually… happening. It’s… it’s like a story.”

Sherlock kissed him softly. “Tell me the story later, okay? We’re having lunch with Mrs. Hudson, now.”

John looked over at her. He’d forgotten she was there. “Right… can I skip lunch? I…. I think I’m going to take a nap.”

“Of course. When you wake up you’ll tell me the story.” Sherlock murmured.

“Okay. I love you.” John kissed him, holding him tightly. Sherlock sighed.

“I love you too. I’m sorry it’s so confusing.” Sherlock kissed his cheek before sending him off.

John walked to the stairs, getting halfway up them before realizing he didn’t sleep upstairs. He turned around and went to his bedroom, falling asleep almost as soon as he hit the mattress.


	5. Chapter 5

“John?”

John groaned, not wanting to wake up. His head hurt terribly, and he felt sore all over. “Go away.” He mumbled, turning away from the voice.

There was a deep chuckle. An oddly and painfully familiar chuckle. “That’s a bit rude, isn’t it? You sound like… well, like _me_.”

John stayed curled up, not wanting to turn and look. He knew that as soon as he did Sherlock wouldn’t be there. He’d still be dead.

The bed dipped and John frowned. That didn’t usually happen when he was imagining things. He rolled over and saw a lean figure bending over him, felt dexterous, long fingers cupping his jaw. “You’ve been sleeping for ages. It’s nearly four o’clock. I want to hear the story, remember?”

John stared at him with wide eyes. He didn’t even want to blink, scared that if he did Sherlock would disappear. “…Are you real?” He asked, voice hoarse.

Sherlock frowned. “Of course. I… oh, you remember. You remember, John that’s wonderful!”

“You’re dead.” John sat up. “How are you here? You’re _dead_. You died. Sherlock you-“

Sherlock swooped in and kissed him, startling John terribly. He pulled away. “Sherlock, what the hell!? You’re dead! You can’t- you can’t be dead and then kiss me! What the fuck is going on? You… you lied. It was all some stupid trick! How _dare_ you!” He shoved Sherlock, getting up out of the bed. He noticed he was in Sherlock’s room and practically growled. “What the fuck am I doing in here? What did you do!?”

Sherlock stood, putting his hands on John’s shoulders. John had to fight not to shove him again. “John, please, I can explain. Yes, what you saw was a trick, but I had to do it. I had to protect you.”

“ _Protect_ me. How the fuck… oh god, you’re alive.” John’s face lit up and suddenly he was hugging Sherlock tightly. “I don’t understand… why would pretending to die protect me? And I touched you, Sherlock. You had no pulse, and the blood… oh, Christ, all that blood…”

“It was all fake, John.” Sherlock murmured, wrapping his arms around John in return. “I took down Moriarty’s web. He said he would get people to kill you if I didn’t kill myself, so I fooled them. He wanted me to be remembered as a fake and that would have worked except for you. You still believed in me, he knew you would. I had to get rid of your memory, or you still would have died. You see? I did it to protect you.”

John frowned. “My memory?”

“Yes. That’s why… John, do you remember the last two years?”

“Of course I do.”

Sherlock sighed. “Describe them.”

“Um… I met you, got a new job, and started doing cases with you…” John shrugged. “Why?”

Sherlock looked suddenly heartbroken. “You don’t remember the last few months? You don’t remember being with me?”

“Of course I… Sherlock, you died yesterday. You _just_ died. Didn’t you?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No… no, it was two years ago, John. Please try to remember. The park, we met at the park. Please.”

John furrowed his brow. “I… the park. I remember a park, actually.”

“You do!?” Sherlock beamed. “Good, good. We met at the park, and we kissed under the tree, and-“

“And you came back here. Only I didn’t remember you.”

Sherlock nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! You remember!” He kissed John, holding him tightly. “You remember.”

“I do.” John said softly, smiling at him. “I… two years. Everybody thought you were dead for two years?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, but I can tell people now. I want to find Lestrade next, I want to get back to the Work.”

“Two years.” John said again, pulling away from Sherlock. “You let me forget you for two years. We all thought you were dead for _two_ _years_. Mrs. Hudson thought that, and Lestrade, and Molly… what the fuck, Sherlock! You can’t do that! You fucked with my head!”

“To protect you!” Sherlock protested. “I had to. I had to or you would have-“

“I would have what, Sherlock. Fucked up your plan? Did you maybe think to leave me a bloody note!? ‘Hey, John, I’m still alive, but you have to pretend you don’t remember me.’ It’s not complicated!” John shouted, balling his hands into fists. “You bastard. You absolute fucking bastard! You can’t just fuck with me like that, how dare you!”

“John-“

“No! No, I know what you’re going to do. You’re going to make a face at me and try to kiss me, but that’s not going to work! I can’t even look at you. I really can’t.” John pushed past Sherlock and left the bedroom, ignoring Sherlock following him as he went to the door.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock asked, voice high and scared. It was almost enough to make John turn around, but not quite.

“Away from you.” John spat, pulling on his jacket and stepping into his shoes. He slammed the door in Sherlock’s face as he left, storming out of 221b. He was practically shaking with fury. Sherlock was still following him, running after him and calling his name. John wouldn’t listen.

At first he thought he would go to stay with Harry for a few days, until he was less furious, but then he realized that Harry had known about his forgetting about Sherlock. Everybody had known, but nobody had told him. Everybody he knew had lied to him for _two years_. He couldn’t believe it.

John kept walking, figuring he just ought to keep going until he was calmer. After several minutes he realized he recognized his surroundings and groaned He was in the bloody park, standing right in front of the stupid bench, and stupid Sherlock had followed him all the way there. He sat on the bench, huffing and crossing his arms over his chest. Sherlock sat with him, staring at him. He wouldn’t stop fucking _staring_.

“What!?” John finally yelled, turning to face him. He was sick of feeling Sherlock’s eyes boring into him. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

Sherlock nibbled his lip, shifting uncomfortably. “…I’m sorry.” He mumbled.

John rolled his eyes. “Great. Now apologize every day for two fucking years and we’ll see how I feel.”

“John-“ and suddenly Sherlock was pressed right against him, grabbing onto his arm. “I am! I’m really sorry. I just didn’t want you to die, I couldn’t let you die. I trust you, of course, but I couldn’t take the risk of you making a mistake. Just… just forgive me. I’m sorry I erased your memory, and I’m sorry I faked my death. I’m _sorry_.”

John looked at him. “You don’t get it, do you? What you did?”

“I just said what I did.” Sherlock muttered, always offended by the idea that he didn’t understand something.

“No, you said the actions. Do you realize what they caused?”

Sherlock frowned. “…They caused you to forget. That’s all. Isn’t that all?”

John shook his head. “Of course not. You don’t know what you did.” He shook his head, looking away from Sherlock.

“Then tell me!” Sherlock insisted, grabbing his arm more tightly. “If you don’t tell me, how will I know?”

John rolled his eyes. “Deduce it. That’s your thing, isn’t it?”

Sherlock tried. He studied him for what felt like an eternity, thinking so hard it looked like it hurt. “…I don’t know.” He whispered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t understand.”

John looked at him, sighing and taking pity. He knew how hard those words were for Sherlock to say. “You erased my memories. You erased my two years with you. You… you got rid of the best years of my life, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide, his mouth falling open. John waited for him to say something, but nothing happened. He sighed. “You changed me from a sad, lonely, pathetic veteran into… into a person. And then you just undid it. You let me go back to how I was. Before you. You… you took my best friend away from me. Even having you dead was better than never having known you at all.”

Tears slipped down Sherlock’s cheeks and John reached out to him, wiping them away. “None of that, now… you’ve done quite enough crying on this bench.”

Sherlock laughed through his tears, curling into John and letting out a little sob when John wrapped his arms around him. “So you forgive me?” He asked, looking up at John.

“God, no.” John shook his head, leaning down to kiss Sherlock’s forehead. “But I will, one day. And even if I’m mad at you I still love you.”

“You do?” Sherlock asked, astonished. “Even though you remember now?”

John chuckled. “Sherlock, I’ve loved you for ages. If anything, remembering makes me love you more. Idiot.”

Sherlock’s expression darkened and John laughed, pecking his lips. “Kidding, love. I was just kidding… I’m an idiot, too. I should have told you that two years ago.” He sighed, putting and arm around his shoulder. Let’s watch the sunset.” He murmured, pulling Sherlock a little closer. “I miss watching the sunset with you. And you won’t leave this time, right?”

Sherlock nodded, nuzzling into John’s neck. “Never again. I’d take you with me.”

John grinned, kissing his forehead before looking out at the pond, watching the sun slip down. As it descended he turned to look back at Sherlock, watching him gaze at the sunset, face tinged orange by the light. He sighed happily. Sherlock was more beautiful to him than a sunset could ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Again, a huge gigantic thank you to Danielle. You were the first real beta I ever had and you were so good at it I could cry. I love ya!  
> And also a thank you to Jen who said that she liked this idea like a year ago. You're my best friend, so that's pretty rad or whatever.
> 
> P.S. I might be considering writing an epilogue possibly at their wedding or after? Maybe a more mature one? Who knows...


End file.
